


Emergency Love

by Kedreeva



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: EMT!Stiles, F/M, Firefighter AU, Fireman!Derek, Gen, M/M, Minor - Scallison, Minor - Scisaac, firefighter!Derek, minor - berica, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-14
Packaged: 2017-11-21 03:02:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kedreeva/pseuds/Kedreeva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Derek is a firefighter and Stiles is a paramedic, and they just keep meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Emergency Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tekla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tekla/gifts), [tmzcori](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmzcori/gifts), [chasingshadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingshadows/gifts).



> Spawned by Cori in the late night Sterek chat room, demanded by Qhuinn, and encouraged by Chasing. Happy birthday Cori!
> 
> Also, I don't know how this happened. And this is the last time I let the chatroom name their masterpieces...

I.

 

            The first time Derek saw him was at a house fire in the middle of a freezing cold December night. It was the worst time of the year for his station, with people setting up unsafe light displays and practicing their cooking for holiday dinners. He'd been to three kitchen fires that week alone, but this one took the cake, with the flames on the garage licking the clear, starry sky. The ambulance was already parked on the curb when his truck came screaming down the street.

            As Derek practically rolled from the truck, as his team mates scrambled to get the fire hydrant working, he had caught sight of the homeowner sitting on the back edge of the ambulance, holding out his hands to a patient looking, young EMT worker. The EMT guy was wrapping bandages around and around the hands presented to him and though Derek couldn't hear him through the suit, he could see that he was lecturing and the motion of his lips, even from a distance, held Derek's attention until one of his team shoved his shoulder.

            "Derek, come on," Jackson said loud enough to be heard over the roar of the fire. Jackson gave him a strange look and shoved the end of the fire hose into his gloved hands.

            Shaking himself, Derek had turned to the task at hand. It didn't take them long; the fire had been a grease fire from a mishap involving deep frying a turkey, and the fire had burned through most of the grease by the time they'd arrived. It hadn't spread to the house, and the man sitting guiltily on the bumper of the ambulance was the only person home.

            "No one else inside?" piped a hopeful voice from just behind him as he pulled off his helmet.

            He turned to find the young EMT rocking on the balls of his feet, offering him a simple, curious smile. Derek swallowed, throat clicking, because it had been a long time since he had laid eyes on anyone as attractive as that. Golden-brown eyes, a fuzz of soft brown hair, and beauty marks which were practically constellations over his skin. The night air was cold, flushing the man's cheeks and nose with warm, red color. But he was smiling and he was waiting and so Derek shook his head.

            "No, you're good," he said, unable to tear his eyes away long enough to look at the home's resident. "Is he ok?"

            The man shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the homeowner. "He burned his hands pretty bad," he told Derek, turning back. "But, we'll drive him in and have someone look at them. He's lucky, really. Over Thanksgiving we had someone blow up one of those fryers. There was shrapnel."

            Derek supposed he made a face, because the man laughed. It was a sound which caused Derek's heart to speed up a little, his eyes to widen. "Sounds bad," he said quietly.

            Humming an agreement, the man stuck out one hand. "I'm Stiles."

            "Derek," he returned, shoving his hand into his armpit to pull off his filthy, sooty glove so that he could shake Stiles' hand. His skin was soft.

            "Well, Derek, thank you for checking for survivors," Stiles said earnestly. "If there's no one else, I have to get that guy out to the hospital."

            Derek had nodded and watched as Stiles scooted away, calling to his driving buddy. Together they seated the injured man securely inside the back of the ambulance and then they had slipped into the front, and disappeared down the road. Derek had stood there for just a moment longer, his fingers rubbing together to rid themselves of the sensation of Stiles' skin. He wouldn't see him again, why bother remembering?

 

II.

 

            The wreck, when he arrived, was anything but pretty. There were already two ambulances on the scene, one of them screaming away as his fire engine pulled up alongside the second, as well as three police cars whose officers were trying to direct traffic and keep the uninjured away from the site. Jackson looked over at him with wide eyes, because they'd seen wrecks like this before, and the fact that there was no fire was a very bad sign. They both rolled out of the engine and began to shout to clear the area. If there was leaking gas, and there almost certainly was with the way one of the cars was wrapped around the street lamp, and the fumes hadn't caught fire...

            "Hey! _Hey_!" yelled a vaguely familiar voice from behind Derek. He turned to find himself staring into the amber eyes of the young EMT worker he had encountered just before Christmas. He wasn't smiling this time; he was glaring. "That's not helping. We've got someone stuck under the wheel; that's why you're here, isn't it?

            Derek exchanged a look with Jackson, who called for Danny to bring the jaws with him. Danny ducked into the truck as Jackson wheeled around and began readying the truck's foam system in case the cars caught fire. Derek jogged over and ducked to get a look inside the car from the passenger side. The EMT guy was kneeling, his arms folded on the outside of the smashed window, talking quietly to the man behind the steering wheel. Trapped under the steering wheel, really, from what Derek could see.

           Looking up, the EMT guy caught his eye and then shook his head to indicate that he shouldn't talk about the situation. Then his eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "It's Derek, right?"

            Scraping at his memory, he tried to remember what the other guy's name was. He'd left it behind; his luck was never such that he would end up meeting someone as attractive as this twice. It was something weird, something about clothes or style or- "Yeah," he responded, realizing the guy was just looking at him, waiting. "Stiles?"

            The smile which curved the guy's lips was entrancing. He turned those mesmerizing eyes down to look at the man who was watching the exchange distantly. "Derek and I met at a house fire last year," he told the man quietly. He was obviously talking just to keep the man focused on something other than the way the car had utterly crushed his legs. "Some guy set his garage on fire trying to deep fry a turkey from a ladder. Derek saved his house, and now he's gonna save you, ok? We're gonna get you out of there and down to where I work, ok?"

            The man nodded numbly and looked back to Derek, who was just staring mutely at Stiles with a look of confusion. This situation was not going to be ok. The man's legs were crushed. There was no way they were going to get repaired. The most he could hope for was to get out of this car alive, and that was looking less likely now that Derek's eyes had adjusted to the dim interior of the car and he could see the pool of blood at the man's feet.

            Danny arrived a moment later, and the world sort of crashed into motion around Derek. He helped with the extraction, and a guy about Stiles' age with slightly darker skin and much darker hair had appeared with a stretcher to help Stiles. When the man was free of the car they moved him onto the stretcher, hurried to get him heading toward the ambulance. As Stiles passed, following his co-worker toward the ambulance, Derek reached out a hand, grabbed him by the arm.

            Stiles halted as soon as Derek touched him, turned to look him curiously in the eyes. Derek cleared his throat, looked askance at where the other guy was loading the crash victim into the vehicle. "You- Is he going to make it?"

            "Maybe," Stiles said softly. "He lost a lot of blood. He won't keep those legs any way you look at it."

            "You made it sound like..." Derek shook his head, unable to find the words he wanted. "You made it sound like everything would be ok for him."

            A sad smile touched Stiles' lips, and he raised a hand, slid it over the top of Derek's where he still clutched at Stiles' arm. "That's my job," Stiles told him. "I'm supposed to bring hope."

            Derek let him go then and Stiles gave his hand a squeeze before turning to answer his yelling co-worker. He hopped into the back of the ambulance with the victim, catching Derek's eyes one more time as he shut the door and the sirens screamed to life. Derek watched them leave and then turned to look at Danny and Jackson, who were just observing silently.

            "And I was afraid the _cars_ would burn," Danny commented wryly before dodging Derek's swipe. Jackson just chuckled.

 

 

III.

 

            He really shouldn't have had to show up at the police force barbeque, but there he was, watching the smoldering remains of what had once been a barbeque pit. Around the park stood officers in plain clothes, off duty, chattering the tales of barbeques past and reliving how this one had started. Derek stood leaning against the side of the station's little fire engine, watching the officers with no small amount of irritation. They did this every year. They never learned. And they never seemed to feel sorry about pulling Derek or who-ever away from actual emergencies on the fourth of July weekend.  


            One of the officers paused in his conversation when he caught sight of Derek watching them. He leaned in closer to his two friends, gesturing his escape to them, and then headed in Derek's direction. Derek could have turned and gotten into the truck with Danny, who was debriefing the station on the phone, but a part of him wanted to stay and lecture the man- the sheriff, he noted as the badge came closer.  


            "Thanks for getting here so fast," the man told him. His name plate said 'Stilinski.' His blue sticker name tag read 'John.'  


            "They told us this was going on today," Derek told him, not meaning to sound quite so tired. "We kind of expected it. You guys do this every year."  


            John turned and looked at the mess behind him and had the good grace to blush. His jaw flushed in a way which reminded Derek of something he couldn't quite place. "Yeah," he said sheepishly, rubbing one hand over his head in another vaguely familiar gesture. "My son yells at me every year. He works in emergency response too." The man quirked a smile. "Maybe you know him?"  


            Derek shook his head, because it was unlikely, because there were a lot of people he didn't know, but then the name 'Stiles' fell from the sheriff's lips and Derek's heart was skipping a beat. He had only seen Stiles twice since the February car crash, and both times they hadn't been able to talk.  


            "No?" the sheriff asked, and he actually sounded slightly disappointed.  


            Derek opened his mouth, not really sure what he was going to say. He settled on: "I- Yeah, I've seen him around."

            "He's here," John said, turning to throw a glance around the park. He perked and then pointed to the figure in jeans and a red hoodie. "There he is- _Stiles_! Hey!"

            Across the park, Stiles looked up, turned to see who was calling his name. He spotted his father and raised his hand to wave, but the motion faltered midway when he realized who was standing beside him. Quickly he excused himself from the company of the young couple he was talking to and trotted over to where the sheriff and Derek were standing.

            "Derek," he greeted, sounding surprised but pleased. "Couldn't get the day off?"

            "I didn't ask," Derek told him quietly, heart thrumming in his chest as it always did when Stiles decided to talk to him. "I don't have family get-togethers this weekend."

            "Oh," Stiles said and then motioned to the picnic barbeque going on around them still despite the smoldering wreckage. "You're welcome to stay here. Or, you know, come back later. There's plenty of food."

            Derek swallowed, because it was a very tempting offer. "I- I work late," he stammered out, because he did and even if he didn't he wasn't sure he could just show up randomly to an event like this. It wasn't really his place. "But thank you."

            "You're one of the new firemen they hired, aren't you?" the sheriff asked him, interrupting. "I'm sorry, it completely slipped my mind. I'm sheriff John Stilinski. It's Derek Hale, right?"

            "Yes, sir." Derek nodded. "I remember you. I just moved back. My family used to live here when I was younger."

            The sheriff just nodded, because he was old enough to remember the Hales, old enough to remember what had happened to them. Stiles wasn't, Derek knew. He hoped neither of them would ask about it; his family was not his favorite subject. "Well we're glad to have you," the sheriff said, offering him a smile. "Stiles says you've done some great work already."

            At Stiles' exasperated noise, Derek felt his face flush just a little, because if Stiles had said he was doing great work, that meant Stiles was talking about him. Talking about him to his _father_. Derek couldn't help but wonder what else had been said. He tried not to think of the things he had told Laura.

            "So has he," Derek managed, and he met Stiles' eyes. It wasn't quite like they were the only ones present, but they were the only ones that mattered, just for a moment. "He saves lives. It's very... well, he's amazing. You are," he finished, and he let himself enjoy the way Stiles' jawline flushed; that was what the Sheriff's earlier blush had reminded him of, and he wasn't sure how he could ever have forgotten.

            Behind him, Danny leaned out of the truck. "Hey, loverboy," he called out, causing everyone to turn and face him. "Come on, get in, we have another call. Some kid set off fireworks in his treehouse."

            In the distance, an ambulance siren began to wail and both Stiles and Derek looked skyward in its direction out of reflex. Stiles' gaze slid sideways first, settling upon Derek. "You should get moving, then," he told him, and Derek was sure he heard a note of resignation.

            "Yeah," Derek agreed, looking down toward Stiles and giving him a tight smile. He wished he could stay; he wished he could even say he wanted to stay. But instead he nodded goodbye to the sheriff, and disappeared into the fire engine to be on his way.  
  


 

 

IV.

 

            The last place Stiles figured he would see Derek was the night he showed up at a domestic dispute. The call had come in early in the night and Stiles had shown up only a few minutes after the police cruiser rolled up. He could see his father's favorite deputy, Erica Reyes and her partner, Vernon Boyd, keeping two shouting men apart. It was only when Scott had parked the little med-car next to the curb that Stiles realized one of the men was Derek.

            Over the summer, he'd seen Derek a half dozen times, most of them fleeting moments. The only time they had gotten a chance to talk was the night Stiles had shown up to work to find a very cranky, bloody Derek having what amounted to a bickering war in the middle of the ER with one of the nurses as she tried to swab him with something. He'd been dodging and swiping at her hand, trying to grab whatever it was, saying loudly that he could do it himself. Stiles' laughter had stopped them both in their tracks.

            As it had turned out, it had been a slow day all around; Derek had been asked to rescue a cat from a tree. When he arrived he found that while the caller had told them it was a cat, it was indeed a cranky, cat-shaped Tasmanian devil. The sobbing little girl he had returned the cat to hadn't seemed to notice or care that Derek's face and hands were scratched all to hell. When the skin around the scratches had started to turn a bright, angry red, Derek's co-workers (whom Stiles learned were named Danny and Jackson) had insisted he go get them treated.

            After halting the bickering tournament, Stiles had told Melissa that he would handle the great big sour wolf in her lobby and then herded her away. She'd given Derek one more glare for good measure, but she'd left them alone. Derek had been grouchy, but he'd sat down and let Stiles treat the injuries while teasing him gently about battle scars.

            "Thanks," he'd said when Stiles was done, and Stiles had felt something in his gut flutter at the way the other man looked at him. He couldn't account for the soft, resigned regret he'd seen in Derek's pale eyes.

            Now here he was, Erica's slender hand on his chest as she yelled at him to stand down before she tasered him and Vernon had another resident, an older man with glasses, tightly by the arm. He was spitting mad, but silent, cowed by the arrival of law enforcement. Scott looked over at him, worried.

            "Isn't that...?" he asked, motioning to Derek.

            Meeting Scott's gaze for a moment, Stiles nodded, hopping out of the car to head for the scene. He tried not to let the dread get to him when he saw the mark on Derek's cheek, the way the other guy was holding his side.

            "Erica?" Stiles asked as they approached. It was not until they got close that they noticed the boy, late teens, curled up against the rear wheel of the police cruiser behind Derek. "What's going on?"

            She tossed him an irritated frown, one hand still held up in front of her to keep Derek from actually reaching the other guy. "Stilinski," she greeted. "The kid needs treatment. His name's Isaac."

            Scott was already there, however, kneeling down beside the kid and setting his medical kit down beside him. "Isaac?" he said softly and the teen turned bright blue eyes his way. Scott smiled. "My name is Scott. Can you walk?" For a moment Isaac stared at him, glanced around to everyone watching him, and then he swallowed. When he nodded, Scott gently touched his arm. "Okay, that's good then. Why don't you come with me, okay?"

            As they began to move, Derek bristled and moved from Erica's hand to keep himself placed between the man, whom Stiles assumed was Isaac's father, and the teen. Erica's hand moved for her taser, but Stiles held up a hand, shook his head. He kept half of his attention on Scott, but he trusted his partner to do his job. The kid had at least a shattered wrist, from what Stiles could see, so they would have to leave soon.

            "What happened?" he asked Erica again.

            "Neighbor called to say there was shouting in the street. Said someone was roughing up their kid, so we came to check it out," she told him, scowling at Derek then. "Found this guy having it out with the kid's father. Neither one of them's told us anything."

            "Derek?" Stiles said softly, drawing the man's attention. Derek seemed to see him for the first time, and some of the tension leeched from his stance. Stiles gave him an uncertain smile that encompassed all of his questions. "What happened?"

            "This son of a bitch had his son by the throat," Derek practically snarled, but his jaw snapped shut and he looked to Stiles with a sort of hurt look. "I stopped him."

            "You did," Stiles agreed, because clearly Derek was still upset. "Isaac is going to be fine."

            That seemed to be the magic phrase, because Derek's shoulders dropped and he took a deep, calming breath. "Yeah?" he said.

            "Yeah," Stiles told him, laying a hand on his shoulder finally, giving him a small smile. "But, you're going to have to file a statement with Ms. Reyes here. Because you got into a fight."

            "I didn't-"

            "He doesn't have to come with us," Vernon spoke up. "The kid said his dad threw the first punch, so we're taking him with us."

            Stiles nodded, eyes not leaving Derek's. "Okay," he said. "We have to take Isaac in, his wrist is definitely broken. We'll have them get the report information to you immediately."

            Erica took a deep breath and sighed. "Fine." She motioned to Boyd, who began to tow Isaac's father toward the police cruiser. The man seemed to realize what was going on and immediately dug his heels in, began to struggle.

            "You can't arrest me!" he squawked indignantly. Erica rolled her eyes and opened the back door of the cruiser.

            "You're _lucky_ they're arresting you, Mr. Lahey," snarled Derek. "Instead of leaving you here with me." The man paled at the insinuation and Boyd stopped to look back at Derek, who looked mad enough to bare his teeth. "If I catch you hurting that kid again, I'm gonna make sure they don't find you."

            Isaac's father swallowed and then his brow furrowed in anger and he looked to Boyd. "Did you hear that _officer_?" he said shrilly. "Aren't you going to do something about it?"

            Boyd raised an eyebrow and glanced to Erica, who gave him a disgusted look. Shrugging, Boyd began steering him toward the cruiser again. "Sure I'll do something, Mr. Lahey," Boyd told him evenly. "I'll make sure I don't look too hard."

            Flashing a smile to Stiles, Erica added: "And I'll make sure Mr. McCall and Mr. Stilinski over there drive _reeeeal_ slow if my partner finds you anyway."

            Stiles hid a smile and nixed the conversation from his memory because he knew he would be asked about it later. Derek just looked confused, because he should have gotten in trouble for that, but Stiles squeezed his arm. "They don't have a lot of love for child abuse," Stiles told him with a small shrug. "Even if the child is a teenager."

            "I'm sorry," Derek blurted out as Stiles released his arm. Stiles tilted his head. "For causing trouble. I just- I lost my head." Even in the dark of twilight Stiles could see the blush which swept over his skin. "I was so _mad_."

            Laughing, Stiles nudged his arm. "You did the right thing. Those two won't validate anything that will hurt you for stopping him. Neither will Scott and I, and I don't think Isaac will either."

            Derek's brow creased. "What makes you say that?"

            Stiles smiled and stepped back, looked over to where Scott was getting Isaac comfortable in the back of the med-car. "Because you threw the first punch."

            Looking over, Derek took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I did."

            Nodding, Stiles glanced back to Derek. "We gotta get him to the hospital for that wrist. See you around, then, yeah?"

            "Yeah," Derek said, watching him walk away.

 

 

V.

 

            The fire started on the third story of the seven story apartment building. There were children inside, elderly people, and a heaping ton of middle aged people who worked for the factory on that side of town. When the call came, it came with the news that many of them had gotten out as the fire started, that the first three floors were clear but that people were still being helped from the upper stories. There were burns and smoke damaged lungs and the two ambulances that were there already were not going to be enough.

            So his day off became his day on and Stiles found himself sitting next to Scott as they screamed to a halt beside the second ambulance.

            Stiles was out of the ambulance, opening the back as he caught sight of Lydia Martin climbing into the back of the adjacent truck beside a stretcher with something that was still smoking. She nodded to him and he smiled. She was one of the temp workers, paying for her schooling because she was going to do great things, things which Stiles had a lot of respect for. He wasn't sure she knew he existed, but he knew that if she was here, that meant Allison was driving. Sure enough he found Scott with his head in the front window of the truck as he came back around the front.

            He grabbed Scott by the arm as he passed. "Allison," he greeted with a nod of his head. She laughed as the ambulance roared to life with a turn of her key.

            "Take care you two," she called. "We'll be back."

            Scott waved and Stiles scanned the massive crowd of people. He caught sight of Erica and Vernon keeping the gawkers at bay, saw his father attending to the people who were sitting or standing, soot heavy on their clothes and skin. A quick scan of the crowd told him that most people were suffering only minor wounds, maybe some smoked lungs, but nothing urgent; Allison and Lydia had taken what appeared to be the only serious case. He took in both fire engines, the one still spraying at flames that licked from the windows of the building. It wasn't going to be salvageable.

            His eyes finally landed on Jackson and Danny, who were standing near the second truck, chugging water between coughs and talking. They were covered in ash and soot and Danny's suit was still steaming a little in the fall air. Stiles cast his gaze about looking for Derek, but the man was nowhere in sight. He tapped Scott's shoulder and indicated the other paramedics that were attending the injured.

            "Meet you there in a sec," he said and Scott nodded, trotting away from him with medical kit in hand. They would get along fine without Stiles for a few minutes.

            As Stiles approached the two firefighters, Danny spotted him and waved, then turned to look over his shoulder. Stiles knew who he was looking for, but Stiles had made the same inventory of people and come up empty handed. He was hoping Derek had the day off, but Danny's reaction told him that wasn't the case. His stomach turned as he reached the duo.

            "Where is he?"

            Jackson turned around, surprised to hear Stiles' voice. "Who?"

            "Derek," Stiles said, and it was more vicious than he'd intended because Jackson should _know_.

            The two firefighters shared a look for a moment, and Danny shrugged helplessly. "He was right behind us," he said weakly. "He must have gone back in."

            Stiles cursed and began to run for the building, not really sure what he was going to do. The two firefighters grabbed for him, but weighted down as they were with their gear, Stiles was much quicker. Agile enough to dodge their attempt to stop him.

            Long before he reached the doors, however, they burst open as if kicked and Derek shouldered his way past them, his arms full of a bundle of cloth and soot. His suit was blackened and smoking, and he stumbled into another firefighter from their station that had just arrived.

            The child in his arms traded hands a moment before the doorway collapsed behind him, causing him to stumble again. He was practically unable to see through the soot-covered shield of his helmet, but he shouted something Stiles couldn't hear over the ringing in his ears. The words _all clear_ began filtering around the area, spawned from Derek's return.

           Stiles followed Derek's staggered path back to the truck, heart in his throat because all of Derek's gear was smoking, because he'd come out from the belly of a raging fire, because Stiles had thought for a moment that he _wouldn't_. Danny and Jackson moved aside as Derek reached them and ripped off his three-piece helmet, goggles and all, and grabbed water from Danny's hands.

            It was all he could do to stare, unable to find words, unable to move closer or turn away from the sight of Derek running a gloved hand over his head, splashing it with water, coughing because there was so much smoke even outside the building. He didn't seem disturbed, but Stiles could hardly even think past the way his heart thudded heavily in his chest, past the way his head went light with adrenaline. He hadn't _realized_.

            He hadn't _realized_ that it mattered to him, that this guy had somehow come to _matter_ to Stiles. They had met a handful of times, a dozen, only just for a few minutes sometimes, but it _mattered_ to Stiles. It mattered so much he couldn't breathe because his chest hurt, because the fear in his gut wouldn't uncoil, wouldn't stop clawing at him. It mattered so much that he found himself marching over to Derek, right up to him as Danny hit his arm to alert him.

            Stiles' name was on his lips when Stiles shoved him in the chest with both hands, pushing him back against the fire truck's side with a loud clang. His mouth hung open in surprise as Stiles shoved him again, because he could see the watery shine in Stiles' eyes that he would surely blame on the smoke, and he wasn't expecting _that_.

            "You _ass_ ," Stiles shouted, and Danny and Jackson abandoned the scene like someone had lit a fire under them. "You could have been hurt! I came here to treat the residents, not the rescuers!" he reprimanded, voice cracking, angry. Behind them a loud groan split the air and a portion of the building collapsed as if to emphasize the point. "That was _stupid_." He shoved at Derek again but Derek grabbed his wrists because the suit was still piping hot, but the gloves less so. "That was _dangerous_. Do you have any idea-"

            "Stiles-"

            "-how badly you could have gotten _hurt_? Do you have any idea-"

            "Stiles!" Derek said loudly, releasing his wrists and laying gloved hands on his shoulders. "Calm down, I'm okay- Stiles!" Derek said when Stiles looked down and lifted his hands to shove him again. "I'm fine, okay? I'm fine."

            Swallowing, Stiles splayed his hands and laid them on the overly warm suit over Derek's chest. It was too thick to feel a heartbeat, but he closed his eyes and took a deep, shaking breath. "It's not okay," he said, still sounding upset. But relief was flooding his veins and it was hard to sustain his anger knowing that when he picked up his hands they would tremble. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

            Derek smiled, but his heart did a funny little flip at the tone of Stiles' apology. "Me too," he said quietly. His hands slid down Stiles' arms, to his elbows, before releasing him. "But there's a lot of people who are hurt," he pointed out. "They need your help now."

            Stiles' fingers curled on Derek's chest a second before he stepped away, looked Derek in the eyes. "Yeah," he said, trying to draw his thoughts together. Trying to collect himself enough to do his job. He heard Scott call his name. "Don't- Just-" He shook his head, and just turned away, leaving Derek alone.

            Watching him go, Derek sagged back against the fire truck and wondered what the hell just happened.

 

 

VI.

 

            It was a precautionary measure that Stiles wheeled the ambulance to a stop in front of the four story office building. He could see the fire truck, the one whose license plate meant that Derek would be there as well. Its ladder was up but not pointed at the building, and Stiles could see the figure pressed against the wall of windows, his toes peeking over the thin ledge upon which he stood. One wrong step and he'd be down.

            Stiles clambered out of the ambulance. Scott had taken the day off and there was nothing Stiles could do if the guy didn't jump. There probably wouldn't be much he could do if the guy did jump, either. Four stories was a long way down and the air pad they were setting up below was not going to be helpful if the guy moved.

            So he just wandered over to the fire truck and settled against the side of it next to Derek, who glanced over at him and twitched half a smile. "What's his name?" Stiles asked quietly. He didn't have to be quiet, but it felt weird speaking loudly when everyone else was at a murmur.

            "Matt Daehler," Derek told him, and then swept his eyes upward to take in the jumper. "He'd been up there about an hour, they think, before anyone even noticed."

            "He's in a window," Stiles said, as if someone should have noticed sooner.

            "Yeah," Derek agreed.

            For a moment Stiles watched the guy standing under the jumper, the one yelling up to him on a megaphone, and he thought he recognized the guy as Mr. Harris. If it was, this was going nowhere fast, because Harris wasn't going to be able to talk that kid down. So Stiles pushed off of the truck with his shoulder and headed for the building. Confused, Derek pushed off as well and trotted after him.

            "Where are you going?" he asked, catching up.

            "In," Stiles said simply. He was watching his father, who was across the small lawn talking to someone Stiles didn't recognize. When the sheriff looked over, Stiles smiled and waved before grabbing Derek's sleeve and disappearing through the doors, ignoring his father's shout.

            "He's still the sheriff," Derek pointed out as he followed Stiles, who didn't let go of his sleeve.

            "I thought I saw an injury," Stiles told him with an innocent look. "We have to go help."

            Rolling his eyes, Derek followed him down the corridor to an elevator. They both looked up, watched the numbers tick down from the fourth floor, and stepped back when it dinged. It was weird, like watching some sort of movie, because no one should have been in the building, at least not on the fourth floor. So when the elevator doors swished open and a small gaggle of well dressed lawyers spilled into the gaping hallway, Stiles found himself a little impressed.

            "Mr. Argent," he said with a nod of his head. These were the lawyers his father hated getting involved with; they were vicious when they believed they had a cause- and they _always_ had a cause. Lately it had been hating Scott for chasing their collective blood relation, Allison, and that meant hating Stiles for being in the same ambulance as his best friend.

            The oldest woman in the group, with dark red hair, stopped to regard him, flanked by two men, one much older than the other. The younger woman shuffled over to the edge of the group, giving Derek a strange little head tilt look before settling. Derek scowled after her and Stiles glanced between them and decided whatever _that_ was could wait.

            "Mr. Stilinski," the red-headed woman addressed him. "Going up?"

            "Better than going down, all things considered," he said politely.

            "That's debatable," said the younger woman with a sly smile, and Stiles vaguely recalled her name was Kate. He was almost positive that was Allison's aunt. She wasn't talking to him, however, her bright eyes riveted on Derek.

            The older woman cleared her throat and Stiles straightened, trying to wipe the slightly disgusted look from his face and not succeeding well. Kate just rolled her eyes at the reprimand. "Good luck, then," said the elder Argent.

            The women began to march away and the oldest of the gentlemen followed her with a calculating look over both Stiles and Derek. The younger man, whom Stiles wanted to say was Allison's father, met his eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd say he could see guilt shadowing his features. "Get him down from there," he said quietly. "Safely. Please."

            He released the elevator door, which Stiles realized with a start he had been holding, and allowed them to pass. Stiles looked to Derek, who shrugged, and they both darted into the car. Stiles managed to sneak a smile through the door to Allison's father before it closed, and then he pressed the button to the fourth floor and the elevator hissed upward.

            They scrambled through the halls after the elevator spit them out, Stiles counting the doors until they came to the appropriate number to match the window Matt had been standing outside of. The door was ajar and he toed it open before looking inside. The emergency window in the corner was cracked open, a soft breeze tickling at his face. Then he spotted Matt two windows down and inching farther away from safety, and he shoved the door open wide.

            "Matt!" he called loudly, knowing the sound would be muffled by the glass, by the sounds milling up from below. The last thing he wanted to do was startle the guy by arriving suddenly.

            Matt's head lifted at the faint noise, and he turned slightly, putting a hand up to shield his eyes as he looked through the window. Stiles waved as he made his way to the open window. It was sticky and difficult to turn open and he was glad Derek was with him because he yanked it open like there was nothing wrong. Stiles poked his head out, got a little dizzy at the rush of air and height.

            "Hey, Matt," Stiles said by way of greeting, a smile curving his lips. "Having a bad day?"

            "Having a bad _life_ ," Matt snapped. "I'm not coming back in, so you may as well walk away."

            "Well, the thing is that I can't," Stiles told him. Matt looked over sharply and Stiles gave an apologetic shrug. "I've really just got more curiosity than a cat, and I came up to see why you're out here. So... maybe before you jump, you could just... talk to me?"

            Matt stared at him, dumbfounded, like he couldn't believe the words coming out of Stiles' mouth. This was a reaction Stiles was familiar with, and so he just waited silently, watching Matt for any minute change. Finally, Matt shook his head. "Why?"

            Stiles nodded. "Yep, that's the question."

            That hadn't been what Matt meant, but he pressed back against the glass. It wasn't much. He looked down, as if collecting his thoughts, staring at the crowd below them and tuning out the drone of the guy on the megaphone. After a moment he slumped back and closed his eyes. "I'm sick of- of just... being invisible."

            "I can see you," Stiles said earnestly. When Matt looked over all he found was gentle sincerity. "They can see you too," he said, nodding down to the crowd of people.

            Matt gave a little shake of his head, a twitch of his lips that perfectly accented the roll of his eyes. "They're looking for a show," he spat bitterly. "They're only here because they don't want me on their conscience."

            "I don't care if you jump," Derek said loudly from behind Stiles. Both boys turned to look at him and Derek shrugged. "What? I don't," he continued. "But you should still come off the ledge. My opinion doesn't really matter, does it? Neither do theirs."

            "Aren't you supposed to be _nice_ to the guy on the ledge?" Matt asked, and Stiles gave Derek a look that said very clearly _he has a point_. But he didn't miss the way Matt's foot shuffled just a tiny bit closer to the open window.

            "Why?" Derek asked, ignoring the way Stiles hissed something about never being allowed to do this again. "Why should anyone value your life if you won't? If you're willing to throw away that sort of gift, why should I be nice?"

            "I'm not-" Matt bristled at the accusation. "I'm not _throwing it away_ ," he snapped.

            "Yeah?" Derek asked, managing to lean out of the window and give Matt a quick, sarcastic once over. Stiles tensed, acutely aware of how _warm_ Derek was, pressed along his back in order to lean out. "Then get your ass in here and prove it.            "

            " _STILINSKI_!" shrieked the megaphone from below them and Stiles winced because he'd been spotted. " _How did you- get down from there and let the professionals handle this!_ "

            Stiles rolled his eyes, then shook his head. "That guy," he said. "That's Harris, and he hates me."

            "Why?" Matt asked, dropping his gaze to the guy as he continued berating Stiles in their general direction.

            "You know, I have no idea," Stiles said as if completely mystified. "But Derek's right, you should come in before you slip or something. You'd miss out on seeing that guy's face when we walk out down there."

            For a moment Matt looked between the ground, the ledge, and the two boys leaning out the window watching him. When he spoke it was quiet, subdued. "They're not going to let me just walk away."

            Stiles shook his head, but then he pointed down to the crowd below, at the tan uniformed officer beside Megaphone Guy. "See that guy there? The sheriff? That's my dad," he said. "He'll make sure you're ok. They'll want to talk to you. And, like, maybe you're right? Maybe they just don't want you on their conscience but... you know, maybe consider that they just didn't know. Like maybe if you let them now, there could be plenty of people that care."

            "Except Derek," Matt joked weakly, but he was inching toward the window and both boys withdrew with huffs of laughter. Stiles helped him through the window when he reached it and Derek closed it behind them.

            They were quiet as they walked back to the elevator and just before he pressed the button Stiles whirled around to face Matt. "When we get down there, there's going to be a lot of people. Are you ok?"

            Matt squared his shoulders and raised his chin a little. "Yeah," he said, but he looked uncertain the moment the words were out of his mouth. "I mean, obviously not, but that's not going to change."

            Stiles twitched a smile and they rode the elevator down to the gathered crowd below. Matt was swept away from them almost instantaneously and Stiles found himself in a vice grip as his father grabbed the back of his neck and steered him away from the cameras and therapists and gawkers. Stiles scrabbled uselessly at the grip until they came to a halt and his father practically tossed him away from him.

            "You want to explain to me what just happened?" he asked in his best _I'm not dealing with your bullshit right now_ voice.

            "What!" Stiles exclaimed, trying his best to look innocent. "We got him down, right?"

            His father raised one finger as if to yell at him, but the motion turned into a fist that he just shook a little at Stiles as if resisting the urge to strangle him. "You disobeyed a _direct_ order, Stiles. Do you know how much trouble you'd have been in if he'd jumped? How much trouble you'd have gotten Derek in?"

            Stiles swallowed, because he hadn't really considered that. "Well, he didn't, okay?" he said weakly.

            Lips pursed, his father shook his head. "Sometimes, Stiles," he said, and left it at that. "I'm going to go deal with this. Am I going to see you tomorrow?"

            "Yeah," Stiles mumbled, because tomorrow was Christmas, and he always saw his father on Christmas. "I'll call."

            His father turned and left and Derek drifted over from where he had been standing, watching the scene. He moved back to stand beside Stiles against the wall. Stiles rubbed at his neck where his father had grabbed him, and gave Derek a dubious look. "I can't believe that worked," he said after a minute.

            "Mm," Derek agreed, a low hum deep in his chest. Stiles swallowed and looked away, running one hand over his buzz cut.

            "It's kind of tragic, right?" he asked, almost laughing.

            Derek glanced askance at him. "This? We saved someone."

            "No- I mean, I know but- Just, this," Stiles said vaguely, gesturing to encompass the flurry of activity. He dropped his gaze and smiled with something akin to regret. "Seems like we only get to meet when someone or something is in mortal peril. I just... I don't get to see you outside of... this."

            Frozen, Derek tensed up, looked over to take in Stiles as he stared out over the small sea of people in front of them. _Surely_ Stiles was not... It wasn't like Stiles could possibly... "Do you want to?" Derek asked softly.

            Stiles' smile softened considerably and he dropped his gaze to the floor before nodding. "Yeah," he murmured. "Yeah, I really do."

            "I'm off at six," Derek told him, mouth dry, hoping his voice sounded even because his chest was doing something funny, all tight and heavy.

            "Do you know Malarky's Pub?" Stiles asked, straightening up and looking back finally. "On fourth?"

            "Yeah," Derek said, because he took his big sister there for her birthday every year.

            "Okay," Stiles said. "Six thirty?"

            Derek smiled. "Six thirty," he agreed.

            Stiles nodded and a brilliant smile lit his face. "No uniform, okay?"

            With a chuckle, Derek conceded to the request. "You either."

            "Deal," Stiles said, and then he gave a little wave and melted into the crowd. Derek tipped his head back to rest upon the cool marble and tried to figure out how he was going to spend the longest three hours of his life waiting.

 

 

 

 

VII.

 

            Stiles found himself sitting at the bar, ankles hooked around the legs of the stool and elbows on the counter, worrying about how the last few minutes were ticking down to six thirty. He'd gotten off work early when Scott had shown up with his tail between his legs due to some miscommunication with Allison's family. They were not in the sort of mood for shenanigans after their day, and Allison apparently hadn't helped by throwing down a gauntlet with her mother over Christmas dinner tomorrow.

            Stiles was happy with his arrangement with his father; he came over in the afternoon and they shared a quiet, healthy lunch. Sometimes there were presents. Sometimes his dad even unfolded the little tabletop tree Stiles had bought him many years ago as a joke. It was made of gaudy purple tinsel and had only about four working lights out of twenty or so, but it was good enough for one day.

            He dropped his chin to his forearms where they were folded on the countertop, turned his cheek to rest upon them instead and then lifted the fingers of one hand to trace around the lip of his tumbler.

            He felt the shift of air as the bartender folded his arms and leaned on the other side of the counter. Stiles looked up without lifting his head to find the guy looking at him with pursed lips and raised eyebrows that asked more questions than words ever could. Stiles just rolled his eyes and grabbed onto the tumbler so briskly the ice shifted.

            "Don't even start with me, Deaton," he grumbled.

            Deaton chuckled, a thick, rich sound that Stiles would never admit to him he enjoyed hearing. "Maybe next year, we don't invite strange men to meet us at a bar on Christmas eve," he said, taking Stiles' glass from his fingers.

            Protest dying on his lips, Stiles watched Deaton mix another rum and coke. He didn't reach for it when Deaton set it on the counter against his knuckles. "Is it really too much to ask for? Just one date that doesn't end in tragedy?"

            Rolling his eyes at the young man's dramatic flair, Deaton snorted. "Being stood up doesn't typically constitute a tragedy, you know."

            "It does when it's going to be the tenth time in a row," Stiles shot back, straightening enough to touch the tumbler's rim with all of his fingers before sliding his hand down around it with a grouchy expression.

            Deaton's eyes flicked to the clock, and then to the door. "You know it's barely six thirty, right? He's not even really late yet."

            The door hinges squeaked across the establishment before Stiles could do more than make a face, and both men turned to look. Stiles vaguely recognized the woman and the way Deaton was looking at her meant that he definitely recognized her. He looked back to Stiles and patted his arm. "Gotta deal with this," he said quietly.

            Stiles slumped back down and watched him go. After a moment he recalled where he had seen her before; she actually had come in a couple times while he was here, and Stiles had begun to suspect she was actually Deaton's girlfriend. For lack of anything better to do, he scraped at his memory to see if he remembered her name. He had decided it was some sort of mushroom by the time the door next opened.

            It opened and then Derek was standing in the doorway, one hand laid flat on the edge of the door as he threw a glance around the place.

            Stiles felt the way his heart skipped and then raced, because Derek had actually _showed_. Then Derek's eyes were on him, and so he untangled himself from the barstool in a not-exactly-graceful manner in order to stand. He lifted one hand in an almost wave, and Derek smiled, letting the heavy wooden door thump closed behind him as he moved into the bar.

            A moment later Derek was there, sliding onto a bar stool beside him and giving him a smile that showed off all of his perfect, white teeth. Stiles' heart was racing because Derek _showed up_. "Hey," he breathed, then cleared his throat. "Hey, Derek."

            "Hey, Stiles," Derek shot back and the way he said the name sounded like an inside joke between them. "Sorry I'm a little late, I had to explain to Laura why I wouldn't be over."

            "Laura?" Stiles repeated, because _of course_ Derek would have a girlfriend. He swallowed, already trying to convince himself that it was okay, because this wasn't the first time.

            "Oh, my sister," Derek said quickly, because he could see the struggle on Stiles' face. "I usually spend Christmas eve at her apartment but... I just- I told her I'd be over tomorrow instead."

            "Oh," Stiles replied. He wasn't sure Derek not having a girlfriend again was an easier emotion to handle.

            Deaton arrived to save him from having to organize any further thoughts for a moment. He gave Derek a patient, serene smile. "What can I get for you tonight?"

            "Ah, I'll take whatever's on tap," Derek said, giving Deaton a charming smile. "Thanks."

            Stiles let out a breath he didn't mean to be holding and lifted his tumbler for a quick sip. He didn't know what to think of the way Derek's eyes watched as he licked his lips. "You didn't have to skip plans, you know," he told him.

            "I know," Derek replied, accepting the glass that was handed to him with a nod. "What about you? Shouldn't you be with your parents or something?"

            Stiles winced. "I- My dad usually works on Christmas eve. He has a deal with one of the others so they work Christmas day and he works Christmas eve so they both get family time."

            "Oh." He didn't ask about Stiles' mother. His tone had said enough about that even if Derek hadn't remembered a moment too late one of the other firemen saying something about the sheriff's wife having died. He covered his embarrassment by taking a long drink.

            For a few moments they sat there in a strangely awkward way. There wasn't a fire, there wasn't a car wreck. There were no lives in danger here, nothing to spark conversation about between them. So Stiles dove for the easiest conversation starter he could think of, and ran with it.

            "So, what made you decide to be a firefighter?"

            By the way Derek stiffened at the question, Stiles decided he had asked exactly the wrong question. But Derek simply made sure that his drink was on the counter before shifting to look at Stiles full-on. "When I was younger, like sixteen or so, my family's house caught fire. It was a family reunion, so there were a lot of people staying overnight. I was upstairs with my sister and... we were the only ones who made it out."

            Stiles didn't know what to do with that, because that was _incredibly_ personal information, the sort of information you didn't just _share_ with strangers over drinks. At least, Stiles was under the impression that wasn't the sort of story people told if they had a choice. "I'm so sorry," he said in reaction. "How do- I mean... I don't think I could go near a fire after something like that."

            Derek smiled softly, rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "Don't get me wrong, it's _terrifying_ going back up against the beast any time there's a call. Every time I face a burn, there's that night again, always hanging around. But, you know, I kind of want to make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else. I kind of _have to_ don't you think?"

            There was nothing Stiles could do but nod, his heart in his throat.

           "What about you?" Derek asked, slightly embarrassed still, this time over how he had just spilled the story of his past. A story, he reminded himself, that he hadn't even shared with Jackson or Danny until after almost two years of knowing them. "How'd you pick paramedic?"

            "My mom," he said, and by the way Derek drew back he guessed that Derek had figured out something had happened to her. He hated that reaction, but he was used to it. "She- we, we both, got into an accident when I was in middle school. It was a long time ago, but like, the paramedics didn't get there in time to save her- they almost didn't get there in time to save me. She died holding my hand and I... I dunno. I guess it's like you, I can't let that happen to someone else."

            Derek nodded, took another drink. "Well, this is certainly a more tragic first date than I was expecting," he said lightly.

            Unable to stop himself, Stiles let out a burst of laughter that startled both of them just a bit. He relaxed then, relieved because it was _okay_. Because Derek had come here expecting exactly what Stiles had meant to ask of him, and neither of them had to guess if they were on the same page. "Sort of fitting," he responded. "All things considered."

            Derek smiled. "I promise I'm actually a really happy person," he assured him.

            "Me too," Stiles agreed. "I even have a life outside of my job! I like watching horror movies with my best friend, Scott. We play on a neighborhood lacrosse team that is actually fairly terrible but thoroughly enjoyable. I even have a grouchy little cat to play with when I get home."

            "Lacrosse?" Derek inquired. "My sister likes to watch lacrosse. Maybe we could come watch sometime? I don't think she's ever been to a match in person."

            Stiles made a face which suggested perhaps that was a bad idea. "We really aren't very good, we don't even have two full teams," Stiles told him.

            "Well..." Derek shrugged as if it didn't really matter. "I mean, we both know the rules. Maybe we could join in and fill spots?"

            Stiles was slightly uncomfortable with the speed at which the blood rushed to pool in completely embarrassing places considering their current location. The thought of Derek in lacrosse gear, cradling the ball, running around sweaty and slick, the sun on his bronzing skin-

            With great effort, Stiles hauled his mind up from the gutter and grasped at any tendril of coherency he could find. "Y-yeah, maybe. I'll ask Mr. Finstock, he's the one that organizes it. He's kind of..." Stiles motioned in a loop near his ear. "You know. He is big on it being a neighborhood thing but if we're short people, we're short people, right?"

            Derek nodded. "Yeah, sure. I can ask Laura tomorrow," he said.

            "Awesome." Stiles grinned. "What about you? I mean... off hours."

            Derek shrugged with one shoulder, fingers playing with the etching on the glass in his hands. Stiles found himself mesmerized by the motion of his thumb stroking over the condensation, leaving trails. "Well, it's kind of weird, but I... sometimes I go down to the big park a few miles from my house, and I watch people."

            Head tilted, Stiles asked: "Just watch them?"

            "Yeah," Derek said and even in the dim light of the bar Stiles could see the blush creeping up his neck. "Because, you know, I just see so many people in bad situations, it's nice to see people... playing. Hanging out with their kids, or their dog, or walking around with someone else. Just... just being _okay,_ you know? It's silly, it sounds silly out loud." He looked askance at Stiles for a second with a weak smile. "I should have said I like reading."

            Stiles laughed like that was the ridiculous part of what Derek said. "No, man, I mean, it makes total sense to me. You gotta get away from it all right?"

            "Yeah," Derek agreed and his relief was almost tangible. "That's why I bought a motorcycle, too," he added, turning to face Stiles, less embarrassed about that.

            "You- A motorcycle, really?" Stiles said, and it was difficult not getting too excited. Derek was obviously attractive, but the thought of Derek in a leather jacket, coasting over curvy back roads, the roar of the bike all around and- "That's really cool."

            "Maybe I could take you for a ride sometime," Derek suggested, his eyes going wide even as he finished the sentence. "I mean, on the bike."

            Stiles somehow managed not to choke on his laughter, face serious as he deadpanned. "I would love to have a ride... on your bike. Of course."

            Derek gave him a strange look but Stiles just shrugged. Instead of pursuing the subject, Derek selected something safe, something less likely to encourage his current state of arousal at the thought of Stiles on his motorcycle. "Have you ah... have you eaten yet? Dinner," he added, because everything was coming out like a proposition suddenly.

            "I haven't, actually," Stiles said, and pointed at the little paper menu that was perched upright on the bar near Derek. "We could stay here or find someplace with actual good food."

            "I heard that," Deaton said from down the bar.

            "Hire a new cook," Stiles called back without looking away from Derek.

            Deaton snorted and Derek looked between them because they were obviously friends and he didn't want to get in the middle of it. "We... we don't have to stay here," he offered tentatively.

            "Yeah?" Stiles asked brightly. "It's Christmas eve, a lot of places are closed tonight."

            "Well, we could..." Derek started, then dropped his eyes to his drink as if screwing up his courage. "We could go to my place. I know how to cook."

            All of Stiles' words abandoned him at the offer and it was all he could do to stare openly, his jaw a little slack, his lips just parted in an attempt to respond. When Derek looked over, caught sight of him, he winced a little.

            "Sorry, that was a little forward of me, I just-"

            "No," Stiles interrupted, because he couldn't possibly let Derek think that. Without even meaning to he found his hand splayed on Derek's forearm, the touch igniting sparks within both of them as Derek's pale eyes met his own. "I- I would like that. I would like that a lot, actually. If you're okay with that."

            Derek's hesitant, almost disbelieving smile was nearly enough to undo Stiles completely. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay with that."

 

 

VIII.

 

            They didn't make it in the door of Derek's apartment, didn't even make it all the way up the stairs before Stiles' hands were on him, until he stumbled backward on the steps with Stiles practically climbing into his lap to kiss him. Derek's hands were running over his hair and over his sides and he found himself squirming as Stiles' fingers snuck under the hem of his shirt to splay over his stomach.

            "Stiles," Derek managed to groan, grabbing at his hands and pulling back. When he caught sight of Stiles' golden-brown eyes, bright with arousal, he almost regretted stopping him. "Upstairs," he ordered, chest heaving as he caught his breath.

            Stiles whined, a completely unfair noise that sent a twitch through Derek's hips, but he clambered off of Derek, helped him to his feet. When he opened his hand to let go, Derek held on tighter, dragged him up the steps behind him, tugged him along the hallway until they reached the front door of his apartment.

            For a moment Stiles watched Derek fumble in his pocket for the key, but there was really only so much waiting he was willing to do. He splayed his hands over the back of Derek's jacket, pressed him forward until he laughed and caught himself against the door, shifting to turn around and face him. Then Stiles was back in his space, kissing him, hands pulling at his shirt, seeking the heat of his skin, and he was still fumbling in his pockets, trying to find the damn key so they could get inside where they wouldn't be caught by nosy neighbors.

            When he finally produced a key and somehow managed to unlock the door, they practically fell inside, Derek kicking the door shut behind them. Stiles grunted as Derek backed him roughly up against the first wall in their way, pawing at the button of his jeans, licking into his mouth until they were both breathless.

            Stiles' hands slid up his shoulders, under his jacket, pushing it off until he had to stop what he was doing to wriggle out of it, pause to cross his arms, peel his shirt off over his head. The moment he was free, Stiles' hands were back on his skin, roaming, feeling. He shivered at the touch and bent his head just enough to rest on Stiles' shoulder, in the crook of his neck, to just try to breathe.

            "You okay?" Stiles murmured, pressing his lips to Derek's neck.

            "Great," Derek told him, smiling. "I just... do you know how many times I thought about this?"

            A low hum of desire escaped Stiles at the words, his fingers curling against Derek's ribs. "About as many times as I did?" he asked.

            Derek moaned, grabbing Stiles by the hips and walking him backward, kissing him as they went. Stiles was vaguely aware of passing through the doorway of a room, felt the edge of the bed a moment before Derek bent, hands sliding over Stiles' ass, down his thighs, taking his balance out from under him as he scooped him and up and onto the bed.

            When Derek got them unfastened, Stiles lifted his hips and let him slide his jeans over his hips, down his legs, watched as he tossed them to the floor without ever taking his eyes off of Stiles. His hands returned a moment later, rucking up Stiles' shirt as he crawled onto the bed, straddling Stiles' hips. Stiles let his head fall back, rest against the bed as Derek nosed at his jaw, set teeth softly to his throat, ran his tongue over Stiles' pulse. He couldn't help the buck of his hips, grinding up as Derek's thumbs found his nipples.

            "Derek," Stiles gasped, one hand threading through Derek's thick hair. "Fuck, can you just-nnngh!" His words deteriorated in a senseless, deep noise of pleasure as Derek bit down upon his collarbone, soothed over it with a soft tongue.

            Then his shirt was being pulled off as well, flung across the room and before Stiles could register what exactly he was doing he had unbuttoned Derek's black jeans, followed the zipper to its bottom. Derek took only a moment to slide off of Stiles, wriggling out of his jeans before hesitantly climbing back onto the bed.

            "Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asked, pulling his eyes up from the long line of Stiles' torso to his half-hooded, golden-brown eyes.

            Reaching up, Stiles threaded his hands around the nape of Derek's neck. "I am so, so okay with this, you have no idea," Stiles told him. Then his brow furrowed, because Derek was still staring at him with such an odd expression. "What's the matter? Are you- do you want to stop?"

            "No!" Derek said quickly. "No, that's not it at all, that's- you're just-" He stopped himself, closed his eyes with a small snort of laughter. "You're just _beautiful_ , and it's sort of been a while for me."

            "A while," Stiles laughed, a blush creeping onto his cheeks, flushing his jawline red. "Like a week? Like a month?" It was a joke, but Derek rolled his eyes with the sort of serious expression that said he was very wrong. Stiles shrugged, not sorry. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're _really hot_. I have a hard time imagining anyone would turn you down if you asked."

            Derek dropped his gaze, gave a soft smile. "Maybe," he conceded. "But I haven't asked. Not... not since I met you."

            Stiles swallowed at the admission. "That's a while," he agreed, then pulled Derek back down into another smoldering kiss because all of this was really just too much to examine too closely.

            When Derek's fingers dipped under the hem of his briefs a moment later, Stiles sucked in a quick breath. Derek hesitated, but Stiles drew in a steadying breath, lifted his hips to give Derek permission, to give him access. Backing up by inches, Derek steadied himself on his knees, worked the last piece of Stiles' clothing off of him carefully. Stiles obliged, raising a leg to push them down, scoot them off his ankles.

            It occurred to Stiles that he was now completely naked, exposed, and that perhaps he should be nervous about it, but then Derek was on top of him again, hips rutting down against his, and there wasn't much room to think of anything except the feel of Derek's hard cock rubbing steadily against his own. He slid his hands down Derek's sides, relishing the feel of all that smooth skin until his fingers caught on fabric. He curled his fingers under the edge, kept dragging his hands down until Derek had to stop, reach for his wrist.

            "Let me," he said softly, and Derek smiled, inching backward, letting Stiles sit up, let him follow the line of his hips with his hands, taking the fabric with them, down his thighs, let the briefs drop to the floor with a quiet noise. The sound Stiles made at the back of his throat at seeing Derek completely unclothed was almost inhuman. "Oh my _god_."

            Derek smoothed one hand over Stiles' head, leaned down to kiss him, push him back on the bed, but Stiles had both hands on Derek's hips, held him in place. "Stiles..." Derek groaned, almost a warning, definitely a plea.

            Stiles looked up, met Derek's pale gaze as he let go of his hips with one hand, stroked long fingers hesitantly over the soft skin of Derek's cock. It jumped beneath his fingers and he smiled, wrapping his hand around it. Derek's eyes closed and Stiles turned his attention downward, let his lips brush over the tip, let his tongue dart out and taste the slit. He could feel the way Derek held his hips rigid, how tightly Derek was keeping control, and he smiled.

            He could fix that, he thought, and slid his mouth all. the way. down.

            Derek let out a stuttered breath, both hands falling to ghost over Stiles' hair, his neck, his jaw as he worked his way slowly, deeply, up and down Derek's length. The swirl of Stiles' tongue over the head was almost too much, the way he pressed his tongue along the underneath, until Derek had to choke out: "Wait, stop, I- oh, _fuck,_ Stiles..."

            As he drew back, Stiles smiled. "You don't want me to stop," he said, lips just _barely_ brushing the tip of Derek's cock. The words, the _tone_ , caused a little, involuntary hip twitch.

            "You have _no idea_ ," Derek murmured, hands on Stiles' shoulders as he guided him backward onto the bed. "No idea _at all_ how much I don't want you to stop," he continued, the palm of one hand gliding up the line of Stiles' throat, along his jaw.

            "Then?" Stiles asked, turning his head to latch onto Derek's thumb, suck it in and swirl his tongue around it, never breaking eye contact.

            Derek shuddered, took a steadying breath. "You're just- Just, stay here," Derek told him, slithering backward off the bed before padding over to the closet. It was a walk in but what he grabbed was in a small bag at the entrance. He tossed it gently to Stiles as he walked back to the bed.

            The small bottle landed neatly in Stiles' hand and he flipped it over to read the label, a grin lighting his face as he looked back up. "New purchase?" he asked, one eyebrow rising.

            Derek rolled his eyes and tossed a small foil packet at him before clambering onto the bed on top of him, crowding him back with kisses and touching. Stiles laughed and let him, reaching up to card his fingers through Derek's hair, running his hands over Derek's collarbone, his chest, his sides, until Derek squirmed a little at a ticklish spot. With a chuckle, Derek nipped at Stiles' neck and Stiles repaid the gesture with a throaty, pleased moan.

            Reaching beside them, Stiles picked up the packet, pressed it to Derek's chest with one long finger. "For you or me?" he asked without inflection, leaving it up to Derek- Derek, who just shook his head with a smile full of mischief.

            "Hm-mm. You're the guest- you pick."

            After a moment's hesitation, Stiles brought the packet to his mouth, set his teeth to the edge of it, and pulled. The foil gave easily and Stiles plucked the condom from inside, eyes locked on Derek's. "Okay then," he said slowly, a smile spreading over his lips. "You first."

            With a nod and an expression that read _well played_ , Derek sat back on Stiles' legs, accepted the condom with grace. Cheeks flushed, eyes half-hooded, Stiles watched from beneath his lashes as Derek rolled it on and then snatched the small tube from where Stiles had abandoned it. He tilted his head to the side, not quite a question, and Stiles wiggled his legs out from under Derek, bringing his knees up.

            The lube was chilly on Stiles' skin for only a moment before it warmed to the friction of Derek's movements. Stiles closed his eyes, forced himself to relax and breathe like he knew he would have to. He could feel Derek's other hand stroking down his thigh, could hear the murmured reassurances.

            "Stiles..." Derek said softly after a few moments. "Open your eyes."

            Squinting them closed for just a second longer, Stiles opened his eyes to find Derek smiling warmly at him. He swallowed and realized he had tensed up without thinking about it and Derek had stopped. He took a breath, relaxed, and Derek leaned over him to kiss him, fingers moving slowly once more. Stiles groaned into the kiss, jumped the moment Derek curved a finger, hit _just right_.

            "Oh my _g-god_ ," he gasped, breath catching, nails scraping into the skin of Derek's neck.

            A grin lit Derek's face and he repeated the motion, relishing the thick hum of approval it elicited from Stiles. "Good?" he wondered aloud, forehead against Stiles', his own heart racing at the reaction.

            "Fanta-ah! Fantastic," Stiles managed, squirming to try to get closer, to get Derek to repeat the motion, but Derek was just smiling, teasing. "Geezus, Derek. Going to keep me waiting?"

            Derek snorted a laugh, let it slide for a moment as he flexed his fingers a few more times, assuring himself that Stiles would be fine. Stiles certainly looked fine, if the erection straining against his abdomen was any indication. "Roll over," he said softly.

            There was no hesitation at all from Stiles as he shifted positions, onto his belly, onto his hands and knees, legs splayed slightly. He glanced back, watched Derek pouring more lube onto his cock, spreading it with an artful stroke of his hand that caught Stiles' breath in his chest. Derek looked up, caught his eyes, and gave a little smile.

            "Ready?" he asked, shifting forward to draw his dry hand over the long line of Stiles' spine, stroke down his side, over the curve of his ass. "I'll go slow."

            " _Fuck_ ," Stiles breathed, half a laugh as he felt Derek press against him. "You'd better not."

            Derek caught the huff of his own laughter, pressed slowly in. He could feel Stiles tense, kept one hand stroking over his side, along the nape of his neck, down one arm until Stiles relaxed, until Derek was seated with his hips against Stiles'. They both let out shaky breaths at the feeling and Stiles rocked his hips back after a moment, a silent plea for motion.

            Bracing himself, Derek began to move, to sink into Stiles in long, steady strokes. Stiles made a small sound in the back of his throat, picked up the rhythm, pushed back to take him deeper. The pace was maddeningly slow, enough to keep Stiles on edge without taking him over and he shifted his balance to bring one hand up to stroke himself.

            Before he could even touch, Derek caught his hand, wrapped his fingers around Stiles' wrist and drew it back to the bed, threading their fingers together. "Not yet, Stiles," he breathed, pressing warm lips to Stiles' shoulder blade. "I want you to feel me, just me."

            A small, reedy noise of desire escaped Stiles at the words. "Like I can feel anything else?" he gasped out brokenly, free hand tightening in the sheet beneath him as he pressed back into Derek's next slow thrust.

            The fingers of Derek's free hand curled into the sheets because he had to keep himself from touching Stiles as well, to keep from running his hand all over him, wrapping his own hand around Stiles' cock, touching the length of him with his rough, fire-scarred hands. Stiles' skin was so smooth Derek almost felt bad touching it... almost.

            Derek shifted, closing his eyes and immersing himself in the feel of Stiles wrapped around him. He felt it when Stiles dropped onto his elbow, let his forehead rest against the bed. For a time there was only their soft panting, the slide of their skin, the edges of their names catching on quiet moans to fill the silence. Derek felt the moment Stiles lost patience with his pace, pushed back hard against him with a whine that completely undid him.

            With a rough growl, Derek freed his hand from Stiles' grasp, smoothed one hand over his hip before digging in blunt fingers, rocking him back hard. Stiles gasped, a sound which morphed into a breathy ' _fuck_ ' as Derek's rhythm changed, became rougher, more urgent. Stiles braced himself, pushing back, letting Derek rock his hips back with every thrust.

            When Derek released him, smoothed one calloused hand over his chest, down his belly, stroked once down his cock, Stiles gave a hoarse cry. He closed his eyes as he came, forehead pressed into the bed, teeth clamped around a fold of the sheets to keep from shouting.

            Derek stroked him through it, murmuring in a pleased tone against his spine, still moving. He was only a moment behind Stiles, body stilling, hips twitching just the tiniest amount with every pulse. Stiles groaned at the feeling, still overly sensitive.

            Trembling too much to support himself, Derek wrapped one arm securely around Stiles' middle and dragged them both down onto their sides. Stiles let him, boneless in his grasp, chest rising and falling in a rough, breathless rhythm. Squirming just a little, Stiles got himself comfortable wrapped up in Derek, and concentrated on staying conscious.

            It was a battle quickly lost as he dozed to the feeling of Derek's hand stroking over his chest, his belly, his sides, the backs of his fingers rubbing over his hips. His eyelids were heavy, his mental focus fuzzy and spiraling, slipping sideways when he tried think. He could feel Derek's lips pressed against the nape of his neck, warm and soft.

            "We-" he began, voice sticking in his throat. He cleared it, tried again. "We should get clean."

            He felt Derek's smile, heard it in his words. "Okay. My shower is really nice," he suggested.

            Stiles just smiled.

 

 

IX.

 

            When Derek woke the next morning, it was to an empty bed. He had wondered if Stiles would stay when morning dawned, had hoped he would at least stay for breakfast, but he hadn't expected it. It was Christmas, after all, and they both had plans. Instead of getting up, however, Derek splayed one hand in the small indentation of the covers beside him, eyes lazily tracing over the rumples in the other side of the comforter.

            It had been a good night, one he wouldn't forget.

            His phone began to ring just as he began to drift off again, and he sighed, rolling over to grab it from the nightstand. A little slip of paper slid from the surface as he grabbed the device, but he ignored it because he could guess what was written there. He pursed his lips at the name on the ID, because it was only 7am and his sister knew better on weekends.

            "Really, Laura?" he asked when he answered.

            "Oh, he is alive!" she exclaimed, like a revelation.

            "Merry Christmas to you too," he grumbled.

            "Are you still coming over?" she asked. He could just barely hear the clink of dishes in the background.

            He scrubbed at his face with one hand, took a deep breath. "Yeah. You said noon, right?"

            "Yeah," she confirmed. "Are you going to bring that hot date you skipped out on me for?"

            Derek snorted, but it was half hearted. "He had plans."

            He could almost hear her scowl over the line. "He had plans or you're not going to see him again?"

            "He had plans," Derek assured her tiredly.

            "Mhmm," she agreed, in such a way that she wasn't agreeing at all. "I'll see you at noon, baby brother, and not a minute later okay?"

            "Okay," he agreed. "I love you."

            "I love you too. Merry Christmas!"

            The phone went dead in his hands and he flopped back against the pillows, stretching out his hand to set the phone back on the nightstand. Though it took a few minutes and telling himself the many reasons why he should, he eventually rolled out of bed and hunted down a pair of decent pants.  He would worry about the shirt later, after he had gotten breakfast and put together the cheesy potatoes Laura liked best. Maybe took another shower, because his bed, his room, his _skin_ smelled of sex, of Stiles.

            But coffee was first, he told himself as he padded down the hall. Because he wanted it, needed it so badly he fancied he could smell it.

            As he rounded the corner, he realized he wasn't just imagining he was smelling it; he was smelling actual coffee, in the actual paper mugs sitting on his kitchen table in front of Stiles. He swallowed as Stiles looked up with a bright smile.

            "Sorry," Stiles apologized sheepishly. "I was going to wake you up, but you looked like maybe you needed it. I couldn't find any coffee so I dropped by the Starbucks down the street." He reached over, pushed one of the cups toward Derek. "I hope you like hazelnut."

            Derek took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I didn't think you'd still be here," he said softly, not touching the coffee, like it was a trap, like it would break the illusion of the beautiful boy sitting at his table.

            Stiles tilted his head with a little confused smile. "I left you a note."

            A rough laugh escaped before Derek could stop it, and he dropped into the seat across from Stiles, one hand wrapping around the warm paper cup. "I didn't- I didn't read it. But, thank you. For the coffee."

            One eyebrow cocked, Stiles gave him a grin. "For staying," he corrected, because he could hear it in Derek's tone.

            "For staying," Derek conceded.

            "I do have to go see my father at some point today," Stiles said slowly. "But... you have my number, and I know where you live. Maybe we could, you know..." He rolled one shoulder in a shrug. "Start something."

            Derek smiled, the knot in his stomach finally uncoiling, his chest loosening in relief. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah, I think I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."


End file.
